Woebegone  Woe Be Gone
by PurePinkEtiquette
Summary: "It was most likely Finland calling, to ask if he'd remembered the lunch box or something. The thought made him smile. However when he pressed the answer button, it was a formal female voice that greeted him."   SuFin
1. Midsummer

**Woebegone – Woe be gone**

**Pairing: SuFin**

**Rating: K for mature subjects**

**Summary: "**It was most likely Finland calling, to ask if he'd remembered the lunch box or something. The thought provoked a spontaneous twitch at one corner of his mouth. However when he pressed the answer button, it was a formal female voice that greeted him."

I_ wont say too much about this story, because I don't wanna reveal too much. However I can tell you it was supposed to be ONE long fic but once I realized it had grown too long, I decided on breaking it up into chapters. _

_ I really just wrote it to try something more serious than what I've previously written for Hetalia, so consider this an experiment. I_

_ think there are going to be approximately four chapters alltogether, so it isn't going to be a long fic. _  
_Anyway, give it a try :3_

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**Midsummer**

Berwald still didn't know whether it was Finland's pleading glances or Sealand's resolute begging that each midsummer hustled him out of their red, handcrafted log house, and made him go to the nearby village to celebrate "midsommar".

In the end it was probably Sealand's pertinacious endeavor to physically drag him out of the house by the sleeve that overpowered the old nation.

That boy was truly taking after England when it came to stubbornness, and that wasn't a good sign.

Sweden would have been perfectly content with celebrating the Swedish festival at home.

He would have build a maypole on the silver-green meadow that stretched out in front of the house, so it could be admired from the porch, and have Sealand and Finland decorate it.

Finland would likely suggest hanging skulls on it, spray it with fake blood, and dance around it to heavy-metal. Then Sweden's glasses would start flashing menacingly, and put out the excitement on the Finns face, even though Sweden was just trying to convey a declining smile. Not scare him off.

He had once been lost in a forest for a whole night with Denmark, and the latter had pointed out, that it looked like Berwald's face was frozen in the same grimace all the time.

Sometimes Finland's reactions caused him to believe it, but he still didn't regret the well-placed kick he'd given the Dane in the wake of the brash comment.

Instead of the small celebration he wanted, he got overpowered year after year, after having been accused of being antisocial by Sealand, who loved the festival.

Finland was fond of the Swedish tradition too, and liked to celebrate along with normal non-nation humans. And if Finland wanted it, Sweden would give in. Again and again and again almost as much as Christmas eve.

And Sweden would give in. As long as Denmark wouldn't be there, mind you.

That's why he now found himself sitting in the moist grass in the company of the other residents of the red house. Finland, Sealand, and Hanatamago.

His family.

The sumptuously decorated maypole piled up before him, and a few kids were still cavorting around it with unflagging energy, but the previous dancing of the villagers had died out, and now the meadow hummed with tipsy chit-chat.

The sun was a red-glowing crescendo behind the towering black spruces in the distance, and the air smelled like herring and freshness and Finland's hair shampoo.

On second thoughts, that was probably only because he'd leaned his head on Sweden's shoulder just now, causing Sealand to utter repulsed puke-sounds.

"Ew, Mama and Papa are being gross!"

Sweden didn't mind Tino's act, but Sealand's exclamation made the Finn remove his head, and shush Sealand, cheeks bright pink.

Just sitting here contemplating his family, made his chest bubble fervently.

"This" he thought raptly, "and nothing more."

...

"Ruotsi, could you please stop staring at me?" came the cautious request from Finland, who looked beyond intimidated. Next to him, Sealand was doubling over in laughter at the bemused Swede.

"Papa is acting like a creepo again!" the little nation teased.  
"S'rry," Sweden mumbled, fumbling with his glasses, his ears burning with embarrassment.

The following day everything returned to normal.

Sealand had left the house with Latvia to play at his house, Sweden had gotten his usual prank call, from a strange man called "the Ikea bomber" who sounded suspiciously like Denmark, and Finland had packed the nation a lunch box and a vacuum jug with coffee, because Sweden was supposed to be in the forest chopping firewood all day.

"Everything was back to normal" Berwald thought to himself.

As he trudged through the forest, he still felt the sensation of Finland's goodbye-kiss on his cheek, and as the day went by, he started thinking of a way to thank the Finn when he got home.

Sweden breathed heavily as he swung the axe one last time.

There. Now it was time for a break.

Leaving the tool buried deeply in a tree stump, he fished the coffee and lunch box out of his bag, and sat on a low sitting branch.

The stray light that snuck through the leafy foliage above his head, filtered a splendid yellowish pattern at his feet, and the silence around him engulfed him. The forest was both enthralling and welcoming this time of year, and it made Berwald think of the times he and Tino had been walking around in the very same forest, collecting food.

Of course their life wasn't as picture-perfect as it might seem.

Just like any other family, Fin and he had problems, but most of the time it consisted of misunderstandings and lack of communication. From his side.

The great thing was, that Finland knew he loved him and that the whole confession deal was now a thing of the past. They had been through that decades ago, and now, finally, he could just enjoy a normal and peaceful life.

"I better express my appreciation though..." he though, munching on an "Angry-wildebeest-with-rabies-from-Hell". one of Finland's new recipes.

He wasn't sure what exactly the strange-named crackers consisted of, but the distinct taste was tolerable and he knew Finland tried hard, so he ate them without complain.

Suddenly,the shrill tone of his phone tucked safely in his breast pocket distracted him.

He regarded the clash of the stillness of the forest and the penetrating noise from the piece of technology in his pocket to be somehow incompatible.

It was most likely Finland calling, to ask if he'd remembered the lunch box or something. The thought provoked a spontaneous twitch at one corner of his mouth. However when he pressed the answer button, it was a formal female voice that greeted him.

"H'llo?"

"Hello, am I talking to Berwald Oxenstierna?"

"Y's?" Berwald mumbled, whilst pondering what the woman wanted.

"I am Anna Lindquist, from the local police, and I have to ask you to come home immediately."

"Wh't does 't c'ncern?" he asked slowly. Cautiously.

He had never received a call from the police during his extraordinary life span of over one thousand years. Even before the phone became invented, he had only fought when he needed to... this had to be bad.

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to pass on any information through the phone." she replied flatly. "I need to speak to you in person."

"W'll, would ya' at least g'mme a clue." His voice remained its usual, monotonous self, but Berwald felt his throat shrivel up around his vocal chord and panic race like fireworks in his midriff.

_I had to be bad, if they wouldn't inform him through the phone._

"Sorry, I'm only following the rules."

Her dismissive tone irked him.

"I'd l'ke to kn'w if m'house is burned d'wn when I get th're."

_Why the hell did she stall him off like this?_

The contracting sensation in his throat grew more pronounced.

"It isn't, but I need to..."

"_To t'll me wh't happ'ned_," he finished her sentence, hoping to sound as authoritative as he would have appeared in person, towering over her.

The silence on the other end was ominous. Then...

"Very well. I'm terribly sorry but there has been an accident at your house."  
"An accid'nt?

"...in which one person has died."

_No._

"and I need you to get home as soon as possible."

"I'm c'mming, j'st wait..." he informed tonelessly, and hit the "end call" button.

_Tino._

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_

_DUN DUN DUN DUN... Sooooo, I bet you didn't expect THAT ONE comming. Or maybe you did, who knows. _

_Leave a review and tell me what an evil piece of crap I am for doing this to Berwald... But keep in mind that there's gonna be more, so don't devastate just yet :3_

I need some sleep now, nighty~_  
_


	2. Alienated

**Alienated**

He had made a shortcut.

The forest appeared neither welcoming nor enthralling anymore, as Berwald strode through the untamed undergrowth.

It was vicious.

An animate organism, fighting to hold him from the one purpose etched into his consciousness. Getting home.

The bony branches were like claws ripping mercilessly at his clothes, to pull him into the eerie darkness and engulf him.

Sweden knew the area by heart, and was aware of the fact, that the house was only half an hour away. A reasonable distance, yet the time might as well have stopped.

His pace had quickened, but the dense growth impeded him, and rendered him incapable of running.

A particularly malevolent branch sprung out of the ebony darkness before him and whipped him across the face_._Pain stung and gnawed into his skin like acid,but Sweden disregarded it.

How long would it be, before he'd see the gravel road stretch before him with the red house at the end, safely tucked in between the trees?

He had to get there.

Sweden had built the house himself in the late one thousands, to function as his refuge, when the presence of the atrocious "Great Dane" and the arrogant Norwegian grew unbearable.

The first mentioned in particular.

"To avoid their certain deaths," as he used to say.

After having successfully escaped Denmarks claws, he and Finland had moved in there permanently, and the house had undergone several renovations and modernizations since then.

It was still fairly old-fashioned, but to Sweden it was a Pandora's box of family secrets and memoirs, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

He remembered the house smelling of Finland's weird cooking on Christmas Eve, and recalled a time when he had come home after a tiring meeting, and meanwhile Finland had decided to "cheer him up" by painting the entire house black and write satanic symbols on each and every wall.

It had taken several weeks, to rid his beautiful little house from the maltreatment.  
And then there were the time Denmark kicked in his door.

Wait, as a matter of fact that had happened several times, Sweden thought.

Despite the memories, he couldn't picture himself living there without Tinos ever vigorous "welcome home" when he stepped over the threshold with the smell of his strange cooking streaming from the kitchen.

_And what would he tell Sealand? _

Finally the green wilderness shied away in favor of dewy grass and the familiar red house.

Under normal circumstances the sight of the home would have brought him gaiety, but today the log house seemed obtrusively abandoned and extraneous, and the red color of the wood a little duller than usually.

Finland was gone, for some reason unknown to him, and now it was his duty to face the police.

He drew a shaky sigh, trying to collect himself.

However, he never got to regain his composure, because the wooden door swung open when he was a few meters away, and before him appeared a worn-out policewoman, her slightly older male colleague, and..._Finland_?

Berwald blinked and pushed his spectacles further up the bridge of his nose, as if to check if he was hallucinating.

But no, his cohabitant and lover Tino Väinämöinen was standing on the porch with his head lowered, behind the police officers.

He had expected to come home and find the Finn death, yet there he was teary-eyed like Sweden had never seen him before.

He started pondering...

Finland was not capable of dying just like that. He was a nation just like Sweden, and only the dissolution of a nation could kill it, which wasn't likely to happen everyday, unless the nation... wasn't an approved nation at all.

And then realization hit him like an arrow in the chest.

"Berwald?" the male officer attempted.

Berwald mustered a short nod, and shook hands with both police officers.

"Is 't P'ter?" Sweden asked, already knowing the answer, though hoping to be mistaken.

The man gave a bitter nod.

He felt like his insides had been barren.

For over half an hour Sweden had been convinced he had lost his self-proclaimed wife, and now it was confirmed, that it was in fact his adopted son that was deceased.

Frankly, he had no clue how to cope.

"The cause of death is still unknown, but we want you to know, our technicians are working very hard to establish it."

"_Yeah, and they won't find anything, because he's a nation." _he thought sadly, but all he managed was a quiet "hmpf...".

"He was at his friends house, when it happened, but his playmate, Raivis didn't see the incident, because they were playing in the woods. When he found your boy it was already too late."

"I see. C'mere T'no." Sweden turned to the younger nation and pulled him into a bone crushing hug, feeling his partner break down in his arms, the moment they slung their arms around each other.

Tino felt tiny and cold against his chest, but all Berwald could do was look down at the crying man, and awkwardly rub his back. Bleakly.

This what what was important right now.

Not talking to the police, not trying to oust the reality, but to support the living remains of his family.

That's why he didn't allow himself to shed any tears, though he could feel them prickle behind his eyelids, as he rocked Finland from side to side, not minding the presence of the police at all.

They could all just go to hell. Tino needed him, and that meant he was the pivotal point of the universe right now.

"C'mon T'no, w' g'tta go,"

Berwald carefully nudged the Finn in the shoulder to attract his attention.

"I don't wanna go..." Tino mumbled, voice throaty.  
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in a dark suit, with his head in his hands.

On the nightstand lay a white bouquet for the funeral.

"Me neith'r, b't we h've to." Berwald replied silently, kneeling before him, to rub him up and down the arms in comfort. "G'tta say g'dbye to' h'm."

"I'm not saying goodbye." Finland insisted, "and I don't need to be at the funeral to do that anyway."

"I kn'w," Berwald said patiently, loosening the Fins necktie, which had been bound clumsily, to re-do the job. "B't ev'ryone's exp'ct'ng ya'."

"Why would I care?" Tino snapped, and jerked away from Sweden, exploding in a fit of sobs. "I d-don't need to be reminded of the fact t-that he's gone, and I don't wanna talk t-t-to anyb-b-body at all. _Perkele_! I don't care about them!"

Berwald nodded sympathetically. He had used a bad argument. The fact that everybody was expecting him meant nothing, and Berwald knew it, because the fact that his closest friends were waiting, meant zero to him as well.

"Ya don't need t' care. B't I th'nk it'll b' good f'r ya."

He reached out for Tino, but he continually jerked away.

It felt ridiculous, standing up for something he didn't care about himself, but he knew that facing the other nations was inevitable, and he thought Tino would regret it later if he missed Peters funeral. On top of that, attending the funeral might help the Finn say goodbye, though he claimed the opposite.

Sweden couldn't say goodbye anyway, but he didn't care about himself. Tino was his main focus at all times.

Finland was still sobbing quietly into his hands.

He swallowed in a naught attempt to get rid of the painful lump in his throat, and grabbed Tino's hand, caressing it gently.

"Please."

"Okay, I'll go," Tino agreed reluctantly, blinking the tears away. "but I refuse to talk to anybody. You can let them know that."

Sweden nodded, rising to put on his jacket and Finland followed him out of the house and into the car.

The last couple of days had been harder than any war, Berwald had ever taken part in.  
He couldn't recognize his Finn at all.  
Finland had acted like a huffy child for the past days, and no matter what Berwald said or did to comfort him, Finland snapped at him.

The snapping didn't worry Berwald though. What worried him, was the fact that Tino, the ever easy-going bundle of cheerfulness kept his emotion to himself, which rendered any attempt at comforting him highly enervating and useless, as he'd reject Berwald or simply not reply.  
The Swede knew Tino's way of tackling Peters death was very unsuitable and would aggravate his suffering further.

"I hope making him come along was the right choice," Sweden thought apprehensively, as he backed the car out of the carport.

Two days had passed since the accident, and Berwald found it to his cost, that he couldn't recall what had been going on in the outside world during that time.

All he had registered was Tino.

The sympathy phone calls the other nations had encumbered Tino and Berwald with, the flowers, the conversations with the priest, everything had amalgamated into a blurry myriad of transient impressions, which the Swede was unable to keep apart.  
Berwald experienced it as though he was forced to watch a movie he didn't care for, a long distance away from the television, so the dialogue became vague, distorted noises and the screen flickering images he couldn't decipher.

He was numb.

Lifeless.

He didn't register the things he usually would.

What he did register, was the smoldering sentiment that seemed to have taken residence in the pit of his stomach. That, and Tino, because if the other had lost his sanity, it meant Berwald had to cling to his own with all his might.  
He had to make the Finn feel alright, though the other was one the verge of a mental breakdown.

"R'member how ya' sugg'sted th't death m'tal mayp'le?" Berwald muttered as his gray Volvo rolled into the parking lot at the harbor.

Finland shook his head with a disinterested mien, remaining in his seat.

"M'ybe we could do it n'xt year?"

Finland still refrained from looking at him.

"I really don't care," he then replied stonily, with an expression that took after Norway, and swung himself out of the seat, slamming the door, in Sweden's face.

Berwald was aware that he had to disregard Tino's little acts.

It was his way of reacting to Peters death, and as his boyfriend, Berwald would give him the amount of time and space he needed, before being able to talk to him. Of course he would.

Yet Finland slamming doors, swearing and retorting in short sentences was unlike anything Sweden had ever witnessed before. Even at the metal concert the Finn attended from time to time, he would behave better, and the rejection of having a door slammed in his face, denying him access to Finland's emotions, stung like a fresh, venomous bite.

He found it hard to believe that Finland, who was supposed to love him, would treat him like that. Tino wasn't the only one in pain after all.

In spite of that he decided to push his luck a little further. Anything to distract his wife from the upcoming burial.

"T'night wh'n we g't h'me I'll cook wh'tever you like." he offered, when he caught up with the Finn.

With his long legs, it was an easy task to catch up with his stocky companion, who walked toward the harbor with long steps. He was obviously resolute to get the burial over with.

"I wont be hungry."

"At s'me point ya' w'll."

Finland gazed straight ahead, without taking notion of Berwald.  
Berwald squeezed his eyes shut, allowing the permanent headache Sealand's death had etched into his forehead, to throb behind his eyelids for a second.  
Right now his issue with communicating with others, proved to be a bigger problem than ever before.  
Tino was usually the one to do the talking.

Sweden shook his head, and made a grab for Tino's hand, relying on action in favor of words.

Maybe the silent comfort was the profitable way to go right now.

He was quite surprised when Finland didn't withdraw his hand immediately, but hesitatingly clutched his hand in his own.

It was such a small gesture, yet the action was the first sign of affection from Finland since the hug on the porch, and therefore raised Sweden's sinking confidence level.

Back at Sweden and Finland's house among the sky-high conifers, the wind hadn't made itself conspicuous, but here at the harbor it was rough and biting, visualizing its strength through the foamy wave crests on the unruly ocean and a stray cardboard mug somersaulting across the pavement.

The wind was indomitable.

"Like death," Sweden thought automatically.

At the border of the harbor stood England and America, the Baltic trio and Denmark, Norway and Iceland, the ones who been closest to Sealand, engrossed in a muted discussion.  
Upon the arrival of the two newcomers, they fell silent as if upon order, and straightened their backs.

"Hi," came America's vague attempt to sound casual, as Sweden and Finland approached the group.  
Sweden nodded, noticing how Finland stopped a couple of steps behind him. He'd been serious about refusing to talk to anybody, Berwald noted.

Berwald's greeting was followed by a silence, which Sweden didn't care to neither break nor shy away from. He just stood there, contemplating his shoes and listening to the waves, thoughts elsewhere.

"Spreading his ashes over the ocean was a rightful decision." Norway commented after a while. Having known the guy for over 1000 years, Sweden knew to disregard the nonchalant, amounting disinterested tone Norway spoke in, and recognize the intention behind his words as an attempt to be encouraging.

He cast a sidelong glance at Tino, wishing he would participate in the conversation, so he himself wouldn't have to be the spokesman.

"It w's Tino who ch'se it." Sweden noted. "He thought it'd be a g'd idea 'n I agreed."

"And it was a rightful decision," Norway repeated himself. In all probability in lack of anything usable to say.

Both Denmark, Iceland and England nodded in agreement, and Sweden barely noticed how they all looked extremely awkward.

"I-it was because his house was bombed right?" Denmark asked timidly.

Sweden was tired of the question by now. Not because of the cautious and pitying tone it was asked in, but because it was a lie, made up the media.  
The inhabitants of the principality of Sealand had been executed by terrorists, due to the terrorists intention of using the platform as a base.  
The whole bomb thing, was the medias way of calling more attention to the issue.

Norway shot Denmark a rebuking glare, that if saying "didn't I tell you not to bring that up?"

So they had been talking about it, behind his back.

"It's gonna be okay, man." Denmark assured him, giving his shoulder a stiff pat, avoiding eye contact, and at that moment Sweden realized the Nordic family wouldn't be the same ever again.

The burial had been passed off in silence, and during the ride home, Berwald decided his worst nightmares had come through.

He'd realized that in the wake of Peters death, the number of Nordics to entrust with his apprehension and suffering had reduced to zero.  
Finland had been the only Nordic, who was emotional enough to talk to, and somehow Sweden had hoped that Finland eventually would come out of his shell. That those two could support each other and share each others grief, but those prospects were distant dots in the horizon.

Another worry that weighed heavily on his shoulders, was how the relationship between the Nordics would develop in the future.  
Not only had Tino been the one to talk to, but also the one who possessed the ability to hush up tensions, comfort everyone, make smalltalk, be cheerful when everything seemed hopeless, and the one to mediate among enemies.

Due to Tino's drastic change of character, the balance in the family was completely gone, and it occurred to Sweden that the Nordics would drift apart no matter what.

When he pictured Northern Europe in ten years, he imagined Denmark, Norway and Iceland like a separate family minding their own business, and visiting him only when the occasion was an official matter.

Their conversations would be brief platitudes of politeness, and when a contract was signed, the three would take their leave, not knowing what to say to him. Then he'd turn to Tino, who'd reject him, because he'd lost his ability to care about Berwald.

...and then he'd be alone, he realized in horror. Though Finland would remain in the house, he'd act secluded and quiet.

In a way it was a though he had lost _both_ Tino and Peter, Berwald thought bitterly.

As all those thoughts pilgrimaged through his mind, Berwald was seated in front of the TV, without regarding the program.

On his left side, the smaller Finn was seated, glancing at the screen with the same lack of interest as Berwald.

Acting on impulse Sweden suddenly wrapped an arm around Finland in comfort.

He didn't want to be alone.

He couldn't handle this without Tino. Even if his presence was only physical and not psychological, it was better than nothing.

As long as he was there...

"I m'ss h'm a l't too." Sweden quietly mumbled in Finland's ear.

"And I realize you're very upset, but I would love it if you tried opening up to me, so maybe we could support each other during this crisis."

The last sentence was never uttered, but remained somewhere in his unconsciousness.

Finland arouse from the couch, the moment Berwald lay his hands on him.

"I have to go," he muttered tonelessly, heading for the clothes tree, to slide into his jacket. He then grabbed his wallet from his counter, stuffing it into his pocket.  
"I d'd buy eggs ya' kn'w..." Sweden began to assure him, but was silenced by Finland's deprecating gesture.

"I wont be going to the supermarket." he snapped.  
"Oh, th'n wh't..."

The silence lay like thick poisonous gas in the air.  
"I can't bear to stay here. Everything reminds me of him." he said, staring at him with large, empty eyes.

The pit in Sweden's stomach was now a unfathomable black hole, with worry flooding the borders.

_He didn't mean it like that. He wouldn't..._  
"We can move." he offered instantly without second thoughts.

Yes, if that was what Finland needed, he would move away from his beloved log house. If he asked him to turn his back on the other Nordics, leave his nation or quit being a country, he would probably oblige too.

He had gotten up from the couch as well, but hadn't registered his body moving. Hadn't registered Hanatamago running in between his legs and over to the door, thinking they were going for a walk.  
"I said that _everything_ here reminds me of him." Tino retorted angrily, voice thick with rage. "That includes _you_!"

_He was leaving_.

"I'm talking Hanatamago with me." he informed curtly, picking the white fluff ball up, as she ran over to him, failing to understand the seriousness of the situation.

Then he shut the door right in Sweden's face, for the second time that day.

Berwald just stood there starring intently at the door, as if hoping it would spring open, and a remorseful Tino would come back, throw his arms around his neck and apologize for his rash actions.  
Of course that didn't happen.  
The moments ticked by, and Sweden silently dropped to the floor, head in his hands.

How could he have been so naive as if to think simple words could drag Finland out of his sorrow?

It was because he was too emotionless, as Denmark had pointed out once.

It was because he had attempted to make Finland feel better, fully aware that he couldn't, because he was incapable of talking about emotions. Or just communicating in general.

This was his fault.

And it hurt.

* * *

**A/N:**

_I'm sorry for the waiting time, but I've been very busy, getting a new apartment, preparing for university and looking for a job, so you can probably tell I've been stressed out._

_As much as I liked the first chapter "Midsummer", as much do I detest this chapter._

_Everything is wrong with it. I can't get the point of the second chapter across as well as I'd like to, and for some reason, I still find it confusing and disorganized after reading it four times ._  
_I really hope you'll stick with it, despite how lame this chapter is, and I'll do my best to improve in third chapter._

_I'd like to say thank you to all those people who reviewed chapter one. I was quite surprised that I received so much positive response, because it is a fic containing character death. But it seems people actually like it, so THANK YOU! It makes me so happy and motivated me to write more :3_

_I think that was all for now._


	3. Veil

**A/N: **Gee, sorry this took so long for me to update. I'm really tired right now, so I can't really concentrate on appologizing properly, though I ought to. All I can say is my life has changed a lot, and I've become really busy, so it's been getting hard to concentrate on fanfiction.

Despite all that, I still hope you'll find this new chap somehow satisfying, though it was kinda hard getting into it, after having "abandoned" this story for several months.  
I will definitely finish this sometimes so hang in there, okay ;3

Thanks for reading my stupid rant.

* * *

**Veil**

When the stillness commences and penetrates every crook and nanny of your house, lingers in the air like gas, and starts gnawing through your stomach, and renders you hollow inside, you know you've been alone for too long.

When you start favoring sleeping at dawn to waking up, because the days seem too meaningless to stride through, and when you fail to sleep at nightfall, because the darkness of the night makes room for thoughts you want to rid your mind of, you known your life is at a standstill.

Berwald didn't know how large an amount of time had passed, since Tino had made a scene and walked out the door. He wasn't even sure if he was aware of, when Peter died.

Since Finland took his leave Sweden had rendered at the house.

He spent the days chopping firewood and cleaning, despite the fact that the house was squeaky clean, and that an incredibly large stack of wood, which would last over half a year piled up behind it.

He vaguely recalled his mobile phone unpleasantly echoing throughout the wooden rooms, piercing the poisonous silence. Naturally he had whirled across the room to hit the answer button.

Intoxicated with hope, Berwald had been positive it was Tino calling to apologize for his unintended conduct, but of course it hadn't been him.

The disappointment had practically sizzled in his chest, as he dumped the phone on his table, letting it vibrate and ring till the battery was flat.

In the wake of Tino's abrupt parting Berwald had blamed himself for Tino's reaction.

By now he had long ago realized that he himself wasn't guilty of tackling Finland wrongly.

He had done everything he could so the timespan after Sealand's death would elapse peacefully. He had supported and spared Finland as much as he could.

No, he wasn't blaming himself for having acted wrong any longer.

The current problematic was that rational thinking lead him to an answer he shunned: he had done everything right and yet Finland had abandoned him, and was utterly refusing to return any of his phone calls, no matter how strong his arguments were and how much sense they made. The sense had left Finland and Sweden detested watching his beloved wife reduced to an emotional wreck.

Yet he knew there was nothing more he could do.  
He had dialed Tino's number time and time again, not abandoning his spirit despite the arrogant "the number you are trying to call is not reachable" message that he kept receiving.  
At one point though, he had reduced his calls to one a day, and his hope was shattered in thousand arching pieces.  
This was why he only staggered out of the house, to chop firewood. When his family was gone, why would he have to remain?

Was his demeanor abject?  
Quite frankly he was beyond caring about it anymore. He was not himself.

The old nation drew a deep sight and massaged his temples in a monotone yet soothing motion.

The silence physically hurt him. It felt like continuously being forced to listen to loud, noisy music.

He jumped slightly, the back of his head painfully colliding with the sloping wall he'd been leaning against.

A noise which could be classified as neither the screeching silence nor his ringing cellphone, came from downstairs.  
He recalled the time when people would occasionally sound through his house, because of the many visitors he had.

Indeed, it had been a long time since anybody had knocked on his door.

_It could be Finland._

Without hesitating Berwald passed the stairs in three long strides, and flung the door open before breathlessly.  
_Tino._

_Tino._

_...Denmark._

The hopeful expression was quickly wiped off Sweden's face and replaced by his customary gloomy appearance.

This was likely to be the most unexpected person to show up on his threshold in the present situation.  
Sweden had known Denmark for a long time and had always known he was absolutely capricious, so no one knew for sure which excesses he might go through with. But on the other hand, he also knew the Dane to dislike problems of emotional character and to tend to avoid them.

At a loss for words Berwald only took to glaring at him, waiting for the other to open his mouth.

Surprisingly enough the ever so garrulous Dane seemed to have been tongue-tied as well.

Seconds later, a blue Fiat rolled into Berwald's yard, and parked next to Denmark's car. Out came Norway and Iceland, both wearing equally strained expressions.  
Berwald was bedazzled, but not exactly happy. He didn't need their pity and no matter what they did, Finland wouldn't come back. He could be a defiant little bastard, when the spirit came over him, thought Sweden disconsolately.

Despite the other two Nordics having joined Denmark on his threshold, he turned to the Dane, deciding that if was forced to be rude to anyone and tell his friends to go home, Denmark was the one he could venture to insult.

"I kn'w why 'ya are h're," he said, retaining a composed tone and a indecipherable face. "B't I'd r'ther ya' go h'me."

No, he didn't need them to intervene and meddle, because objectively he knew that they couldn't do anything.

There was an emotional gap between them now. A gully. Neither one of them could imagine the situation he was in, and therefore he was out of their reach. A pang of sadness shot through him, with that observation, and he turned around, ready to shut them out of his personal hell.

"Do you mind!" Denmark addressed him aggrievedly, "we just worked our asses of to get here, and then you go and shut the door in our faces.

Berwald fumed. If there was somebody who wouldn't get away with lecturing him about manners, it was Denmark. Completely sliding into the old jargon, Sweden told him precisely that.

"I don't give a fuck about manners – or you for that matter. " came the brash retort from the Dane.

"Yes you do." Norway interrupted in his usual contemptuous voice, contradicting Denmark "If I remember correctly it was in fact you who suggested this visit."

"I don't remember anything about that..." came the vague response eventually from Denmark.

At that Iceland and Norway shared an eloquent look, which Sweden couldn't help but notice.

And it hurt.  
They were the same. The way they used to. They hadn't experienced loss. In Sweden's mind, the gully between them grew into a canyon. He was indeed on his own in this.

"Either way, the "great" Dane actually had a point, Sweden." Norway noted objectively. "We came all this way, to pay you a visit, so turning us down now, would seem really impolite."  
What on earth? Norway rarely used such a direct tone with him, and the sight of him, standing there steady as an iceberg, a matching icy glint in his eye, caused Berwald to reluctantly open the door.

"Coffee?" He asked tonelessly, and then seconds after realized he didn't possess any. He had doped himself during the late hours, staunchly remaining at the phone. He was relieved when Denmark shook his head on behalf of all of them.

"I'd rather have some..."

"You are not drinking beer now." Norway determined, before Denmark could even finish his request.

"Jesus fucking hell Nor, I would have said "explanations", but you just have to be suspicious, don't you?"

"I'm suspicious because you are a primitive non compos, incapable of reading the situation."

"Hey!"  
Iceland just remained standing, casually leaned against a kitchen unit, appearing niggled at the bickering.

Sweden experienced it as though he the whole thing through a screen or a veil or something alike. Like he wasn't really a part of it, but rendered the silent spectator, watching it all pass by.

"So Sweden, we came to ask how you are doing..." Iceland stated, sounding forced.

"R'lly?" He raised an eyebrow, letting his train of thought's drift off into a myriad of darkness, shutting out their voices.

"We did." Norway backed him up, looking equally uncomfortable.

"W'll, I appr'ciate it..." he lied, glowering at the the rough surface of the wooden kitchen table, realizing why this was so awkward. Neither Norway nor Denmark or Iceland were used to talking about emotions.  
Actually it was strange, how much they had always depended on Finland in such situations. He was the link, binding them together, forcing them to talk. What they had done before they met him, he couldn't remember. But of course they had all been young and unspoiled back then.

They never talked anymore.

Denmark leaned forward, looking determined.

"So, how _are _you doing?" Denmark said, obviously finding it hard to appear casual, when asking about Sweden's well-being.

Berwald look a triumph in that, eying him questioningly for a moment, before putting him out of his misery, but stubbornly stating that "if he so desperately cared, he was quite all right."

"I think Tino will come back, once he's had time to think." Norway inquired distantly gazing at some fix point behind Sweden. Iceland nodded.

"Me too!" Denmark's voice rang through the room.  
"M'ybe." he mumbled. Berwald didn't agree in the least. First Sealand had gone, and now Finland. Maybe it held some sort of connection. Maybe Sealand was what had bound Finland and Sweden together as a couple. The thought hurt, more than the expecting stares he received from the other people occupying his kitchen.

What did they expect him to say? Assure them that he was all right, and act it. Strike up a chat about his emotional state. Tell them he was on the verge of suicide? What did they expect from him, when he didn't even know how he felt.  
All he did know, was that he had done everything, to help Tino through the loss of Sealand, and despite the fact that he had given his all, it still hadn't been enough, because Tino had taken his leave.

"M'ybe" Denmark aped his words. "Tell us what you are thinking already!"

Berwald silently wondered if Tino had found anybody out there capable of healing his wounds.

The thought hurt.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this chap ;3  
Hopefully this will motivate me to update sooner next time ;3


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